


Mind Eraser, No Chaser

by marchingjaybird



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Drinking, Hijinks & Shenanigans, I don't know why I even wrote this, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchingjaybird/pseuds/marchingjaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A demi-god, a living legend, a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, a man with breathtaking anger management issues, and a couple of master assassins walk into a bar...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mind Eraser, No Chaser

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why I even wrote this. And I'm not great at being funny. But there ya go. I had to do it. Also, my Hulk is much more like EMH Hulk than movie Hulk. But since EMH is why I ship Hulkeye, I guess that's not so surprising.
> 
> Inspired by the Avengers Texts From Last Night gifs by [bartonesque](http://bartonesque.tumblr.com/).

They go out drinking which, in retrospect, is a terrible idea. Clint will reflect on it the next day, sheets pulled up over his face, head hammering like Hell's own brass band has spent a night marching through his skull. He's had hangovers before, and hangovers on top of hangovers, but in the creeping light of late afternoon "hangover" will seem too friendly a word for the monumental list of miseries that he awakens to.

It would be nice to say that he was coerced, or lied to, or that he simply got carried away, but the truth is he deserves his pain. He _earned_ it.

"We're going to try to get Thor drunk," Stark says, sticking his head into locker room. His eyebrows are raised, brown eyes innocently wide. Clint stares at him for a long moment, frozen in the act of stowing his quiver.

"That's a terrible idea," he answers finally.

"I know," Stark says.

"Why?" Clint asks.

"Because we can," Stark says.

"Who's 'we'?" Clint asks.

"Me, Natasha, Banner, Steve," Stark says, ticking people off on his fingers.

"So... everyone," Clint says, raising an eyebrow.

"Yep," Stark says. "You in?"

"It's not going to work," Clint answers.

"I'll assume that's a yes," Stark says. "Meet us in the lobby in twenty minutes."

***

Against his better judgment, he does it. He changes into street clothes and meets them in the lobby. Hands tucked into his pockets, he sidles over to stand next to Nat; she's really the only one that he knows and if he's going to get drunk with a bunch of super-powered crazy people, he's going to stick as close to her as possible. She looks wholly unimpressed, but as that is her default state of being, he leans close and whispers, "Please tell me you think this is as stupid as I do."

"Absolutely," she murmurs. "I'm mostly in it to see Stark embarrass himself."

"They look like idiots," he observes. "Like a sitcom or something."

And they do. Stark is the most normal, in his jeans and his ACDC tour shirt, but standing next to Steve - impeccably dressed in khaki pants and a tucked in plaid button-down - he looks a bit like the fashionably rumpled victim of a mid-life crisis. Thor is absolutely ridiculous; the jeans and t-shirt are nice and normal and do not suit him at all.

"I feel like he should be delivering pizzas to sorority girls who just can't afford to pay him," Nat says, cocking her head.

"Yeah, that shirt is _definitely_ gonna rip artfully before the night is through," Clint answers.

"Ripping shirts?" They both turn to face Banner, who is standing behind them and smiling faintly. "Are we talking about ripping shirts? I'm kind of an expert on the subject."

"Wait, are you coming, too?" Clint demands. Nat and Banner ignore him.

"Yeah, check out Thor," she says, directing Banner's attention. He raises his eyebrows, adjusts his glasses.

"Yow," he murmurs. "Is he planning on doing some plumbing for a desperately lonely housewife?" Nat holds up her hand and he high-fives her. Beside them, Clint sulks.

"Seriously, I'm the only one who thinks Banner getting drunk is a bad idea?" he grumbles.

"All right, is everyone here?" Stark calls, spinning in a quick circle. Satisfied, he gestures them all towards the doors. "Come on, then! We'd better get started early, this may take all night..."

***

"My secret weapon is tequila," Stark whispers, leaning close to Clint and pointing at Thor. "The guy's had mead all his life, right? So tequila should knock him on his ass."

Clint nods. It feels like his head is about to roll off his shoulders and go trundling through the bar on its own. "Hey," he stage-whispers to Natasha. "How many of these have I had?"

"I dunno," she answers. "Like... six, I guess." She sounds mostly sober still, in spite of the half empty bottle of vodka parked in front of her.

Clint stares at his glass. The drink residue inside is purple. Tentatively, he licks it. "What is it?"

"A purple nurple," Nat replies.

"...isn't that a titty twister?" Clint asks. Nat stares at him. "You know." He gestures, pinching his fingers together and rotating his wrists sharply. "Where you grab someone's nipple and twist? Don't they call that a purple nurple?"

"No," Nat says. "No one calls it that."

"I call it that," Stark says. The ice cubes in his scotch rattle as he twists in his chair. Nat raises an eyebrow. Her hand lashes out so fast that Clint falls backwards out of his chair. From his vantage point on the ground, he can see her fingers closing viciously on Stark's nipple. The howl that bursts from his throat is inhuman.

By the time Clint rights his chair and clambers back into it, Stark has his shirt pulled up and is grinning stupidly down at his own chest. "See?" he says. "Purple."

Nat stares dispassionately at the bruise then nods. "Fine. I'll give you that one."

***

Clint squints at the bar then nudges Nat with his elbow. "Is that guy for real?" he asks. She twists to look.

The guy in question is leaning against the bar, obviously trying to pick up the pretty bartender. He's not bad looking, kinda douchey, and his jeans are tight enough that it looks like a sausage is slithering down his inner thigh. Nat's eyes go very wide and she slowly turns around.

"I honestly can't tell," she says. "Banner! Look at that guy."

Bruce hasn't been drinking, but he lingered outside for a while when they first arrived at the bar - which is a nothing special hole in the wall little dump whose jukebox contains only songs released prior to 1984 - and came in smelling like skunks and giggling, so he's at least on board with the altered states theme of the night. He cranes his neck and then bursts out laughing.

"Is it real?" Clint demands.

"I don't know!" Bruce giggles.

"Is what real?" Steve isn't drunk either, through no lack of trying on Stark's part. Clint has been contemplating using one of the tranq arrowheads he brought as a super soldier roofie but Steve hasn't left the table all night. This, however, is the perfect opportunity.

"That guy's dong," Clint answers. "You should follow him to the bathroom and find out."

Steve turns vividly red. "No," he says. "I'm not doing that."

"I'll give you fifty bucks," Natasha chimes in. Steve looks at Tony helplessly.

"What?" Tony winks at the waitress as she drops off another scotch. "Oh! Yeah." He wags his finger at Nat. "Shame on you for offering Captain America fifty dollars to spy on another man's crotch!"

"Thank you," Steve says.

"You're welcome," Tony answers, beaming. " _I'll_ pay you fifty _thousand_ to do it."

Bruce drops his head into his folded arms, laughing so hard that he's weeping.

"We should simply ask him," Thor declares, standing up unsteadily. Stark's secret weapon worked like a charm; the Asgardian is drunk and well on his way to getting boisterous. "Any man would be proud to share so magnificent a-"

"No!" Steve is standing, pulling Thor back into his seat. "No, okay? No. I'll do it. Just... sit down."

As he walks away Clint, Nat, and Tony lean out of their seats to watch, all three sets of eyes glued to his ass. "Stark, if your father was still alive I'd shake his hand," Nat murmurs.

Bruce howls with glee.

***

"How come you're not drunk yet?" Clint asks, leaning bonelessly against the table.

"I haven't had that much to drink," Nat answers. Clint peers at her bottle. There is less than a third of vodka left.

"But!" He points, like a child without words. Nat raises an eyebrow.

"I'm Russian," she says.

"You're pretty," he burbles.

She shoves him out of his chair.

***

Clint leans across the table and tips the contents of the arrowhead into Steve's drink.

"What are you doing?" Tony asks.

"Roofie-ing Captain America," Clint answers happily.

"I do not understand," Thor says.

"Now he'll get drunk, too!" Clint says.

"Ah!" Thor looks delighted. "Excellent!"

***

Steve returns. Everyone stares at him as he sits down. Bruce, who only recovered from his attack of hilarity a few minutes ago, shovels pretzels into his mouth and giggles in anticipation.

"Well?" Tony prompts.

"It was all right," Steve answers, shrugging his shoulders.

"Was it _real_?" Nat demands.

"Yes," Steve says. He looks uncomfortable. Bruce cackles.

"But only all right," Nat says flatly. Steve shrugs again and stares at the table.

"He's just saying that cause his is bigger," Bruce trills. Everyone shifts their attention to him. He sits up very straight and slowly puts his handful of pretzels back in the bowl. "What?"

"Have you seen it?" Tony asks, practically crawling across the table.

"Stop," Steve mutters.

"Yeah, once." Bruce looks puzzled.

" _When_!?" Tony yelps.

"Tony, come on..." Steve pleads.

"I _am_ a doctor," Bruce says, with a pathetic attempt at dignity.

"How big is it?" Tony whispers. His eyes are as big as the coasters on the table, the coasters which absolutely no one has been using.

Steve whimpers.

Nat leans over and shoves Tony out of his chair.

"Thank you," Steve says.

"No problem," Nat answers.

***

"So," Tony says, having fully recovered from his sojourn to the floor. "If you could sleep with anyone at SHIELD, who would it be?"

"This is a woman's game," Thor growls.

"It's not a game!" Tony protests. "It's just a question!"

"I'd sleep with Maria," Natasha offers. Clint claps a hand dramatically to his chest.

"You're gonna kill me, Nat," he mutters. "How could you even _say_ that!?"

"Who would _you_ fuck?" she asks. Clint considers for a moment, then points to Bruce. Bruce promptly drops peanuts all over the floor.

"Me?" he says. "Really? _Me_!?" They stare at each other for a second. "Are you sure you don't mean the other guy?"

"What?" Clint asks flatly.

"Because he likes you," Bruce offers. Clint stares. "Quite a lot."

"Like... 'sexy' likes him?" Nat asks, a little grin teasing the corners of her mouth.

"Yep," Bruce answers, popping a handful of peanuts into his mouth. "Quite. A. Lot."

Steve sways a little against the table. His eyes are bleary. His face is twisted into a goofy smile. "I know who Tony'd say," he coos.

"Yes, well," Tony says. "So does everybody."

All fingers point to Steve, who raises his arms above his head triumphantly and nearly topples out of his chair. Thor props him back up, laughing.

"The question is," Tony purrs, "who would Captain America sleep with?"

"Whoever I was in love with," Steve replies smugly.

"So you're in love with me," Tony deadpans.

"I didn't say that!" Red creeps into Steve's cheeks.

"But you are," Tony says, leaning in close. "You're in love with me."

"I'm not!"

"Just say it."

They're all watching the exchange so raptly that no one notices a gaggle of girls come bouncing up to the table. "OhmigodareyouTonyStark!?" one gushes. Tony instantly swings around and fixes them with a beaming smile.

"Yes, I am," he smarms.

Steve visibly deflates.

***

"Guys, you're gonna have to leave."

They're the last people in the bar. The jukebox stopped playing about thirty minutes ago. Thor is asleep with his head pillowed on his massive arms. Steve is staring at the ceiling. Tony is staring at Steve. Bruce is staring at the origami swan he crafted out of a napkin. Clint has finally hit the wall where if something doesn't happen soon he's going to hit Natasha just to _make_ something happen.

"I'm not done drinking," Natasha answers coldly. She started on a new bottle of vodka an hour ago. Clint is beginning to suspect that she's a mutant. Or a robot.

"The bar is closed." The bouncer glowers at them. "Get out."

"Make me," Nat growls. The bouncer recoils a little. Tony stands, smiling beatifically.

"It's all right, good sir!" he slurs. "We are on our way! Surely there is some other fine establishment which we can patronize this evening!"

"Surely," the bouncer answers dryly.

"Come on, everyone!" Tony stumbles a little as he gestures grandly. "Avengesers asssssemble!" He claps Thor on the shoulder to wake him.

Thor doesn't so much regain consciousness as crash headlong into it and break its spine. He roars, hooking his arms under the table and flipping it so hard that it spins through the bar and takes out the front window. He follows it, ripping off his shirt as he barrels into the street. "FOR ASGARD!"

"Told you it would rip," Clint mutters.

"We should probably go after him," Bruce offers.

Nat spits on the floor, wipes her mouth, and marches grimly through the broken window.

***

It isn't hard to track Thor. Though the table ended its journey in the middle of the road, Thor's path of destruction continues across and into an alleyway. Natasha follows like a hound on the scent and everyone else more or less stumbles along after her.

"I should probably just go home," Bruce murmurs. "This is not a good place for me right now."

"Why did he get so angry?" Steve asks plaintively. "I don't understand."

"Tequila," Tony answers, nodding wisely. "It just makes some people crazy."

"I'm gonna... I'm just gonna go," Bruce says, starting to walk backwards.

Clint hauls off and slaps him across the face. For a second, Bruce looks utterly shocked. Then, he looks utterly green.

"Hey, big guy!" Clint spreads his arms wide. Pedestrians run screaming. "I missed you! Gimme a lift, will ya?"

The Hulk gets in real close, his breath hot on Clint's face. There is murder in his eyes. His knuckles pop ominously.

Clint cups his hands around big green jaws and plants a soft kiss squarely on the Hulk's mouth. Behind him, he can hear Tony giggling. "Oh my god..."

"Cupid," Hulk growls.

"Cupid?" Clint beams. "Really? You call me Cupid?"

"You're in big trouble," Hulk snarls.

"Full sentences!" Clint crows. "That's another kiss!" He leans in again. This time, the kiss is returned, Hulk's massive hand pressing against his lower back, pulling him close. He feels dizzy and tiny and just a little bit (no, a lot, really a lot) turned on.

When they break apart, Clint is breathless. "Wow," he says.

"Wow," echoes Tony. "That was _bizarre_."

"I think it's kind of romantic," Steve says.

"I _will_ smash you," Hulk threatens.

"Duly noted," Tony says, grabbing Steve's arm. "Come on, Captain, we have an Asgardian to find!" They hurry off after Natasha. Hulk turns back to Clint, who smiles brightly.

"About that lift...?"

***

Riding on Hulk's shoulder is pretty much the best thing he's ever done. The last horse he rode was back during his circus days and he'd hated it. The Hulk runs much more smoothly, needs no direction, and - weirdly - smells a lot better.

"What kind of shampoo do you use?" Clint asks, burying his nose in Hulk's hair. Hulk snarls and he stops talking.

They round a corner and stop short. "Oh shit," Clint breathes.

Natasha is squared off against a trio of douchebags. Clint can tell that's what they are because of their polo shirts and chinstrap beards. One of them is yelling something, pointing at her face, obviously furious over something.

"He's gonna lose that finger," Clint observes.

"What's he yelling for?" Hulk demands.

Clint searches the street and soon discovers the source of the disagreement. A very expensive looking car is pulled halfway up onto the sidewalk with a Thor-shaped dent in the hood. Nearby, Steve is being berated by yet another douchebag while Tony attempts to keep Thor from wandering off again.

"Think we should help?" Hulk growls.

"Nope," Clint answers.

"Me either," Hulk says.

"But those guys _are_ dicks," Clint muses.

"Yep," Hulk agrees.

"Wish I had my bow," Clint sighs.

Hulk grunts. Clint kisses the top of his head.

"Wanna go smash the car?" he asks.

Hulk grins wickedly.

***

"This sucks," Clint yells. 

"Shut up!" answers Nat, from the cell next to him. "It's your fault!"

"Isn't!" he protests.

"Who told Hulk to smash the car?" she demands.

"Me," he admits. "But who threw the smallest guy into the porn shop?"

"Thor!" she snaps.

"Really?" Clint asks, furrowing his brow. "I thought that was you."

"No, I threw the big one," Nat answers.

"HAH!"

"Keep it down in there," comes the bored voice of the officer on duty. Clint slumps against the wall of his holding cell.

"We're government agents!" Steve calls from further down the line. "I'm _Captain America_!"

"Yeah, and I'm the Human Torch," the cop calls back. "Shut up or I'll come set ya on fire!"

"I knew the Human Torch!" Steve roars. "He was a good man! Robot! Man!"

"You really shouldn't have roofied him," Natasha mutters. Clint cradles his head in his hands.

"This sucks," he moans. "Coulson is gonna _kill_ me."

***

He falls asleep at some point, only to be awakened by the sound of his cell door swinging open. Head pounding, mouth dry, he sits up and squints, hope rising in his heart. Hulk had tossed a police cruiser like a dart and Clint had lost him in the ensuing chaos. He's clearly not in one of the cells, so it's plausible to think that maybe he Bruced back down and came to bail them out.

Hope dies a hideous death under the cool, flat stare of Phil Coulson.

***

They all sit around a conference table, heads down, not saying anything. Bruce has rejoined them, looking a bit worse for the wear. According to him, he fell asleep under a bridge. Clint is inclined to believe him, as he sort of smells like garbage. He blushes every time he looks at Clint.

Somewhere between Steve beating a guy senseless with a hubcap and Tony throwing a handful of credit cards at the cops as preliminary bail, the two of them have started holding hands. Tony looks thoroughly blissed out. Steve's got a hickey on his neck. Clint assumes they shared a cell.

Thor slouches in his chair sullenly. Looking at him, you'd never be able to tell that he was tequila drunk and hit by a car a mere twelve hours ago. Apart from looking a bit sleepy, he is essentially the same as always.

Natasha has a black eye. She's never looked happier in her life.

"This is foolish," Thor grumbles. "Do they mean to keep us here all day?"

"They're probably going to scold us," Bruce offers.

"What for?" Thor demands. "We did nothing untoward!"

"We wrecked a bar and beat up a bunch of guys," Clint points out. "And got arrested."

"As befits a brotherhood of warriors," Thor answers.

The door slams open. Fury stands at the head of the table, living up to his name. Tony clears his throat.

"Before you start to yell-"

"Shut up," Fury orders. "I don't wanna hear it. You are all an embarrassment. I can't even begin to think of how to punish you."

"We're sorry, sir," Steve says.

"Just... go to your rooms," Fury mutters, turning on his heel and striding out of the room. "I can't look at you right now."

The door slams shut behind him. The Avengers exchange looks.

"Did we just get grounded?" Clint asks.

"Yep," Nat answers.

"Well," he says, resting his hand on Bruce's knee, beaming at the flush of red that creeps up Bruce's neck. "It was worth it."


End file.
